#1815 - skin of

 

1815

5.353

19.xii.24

skin of

 

the creature’s all tricks

 

grape and peel me

 

break through the shell

 

it’s everywhere

so much on show

 

my nose

just a whiff

 

skin of the angels see through

 

and smooth to the touch

too much

 

skin of the tune

is untelling

 

skin of the tree

as far as the sky

 

skin of my sky’s all up with why

 

skin of the fire is this grief

skin of velcro

 

skin of the page

and take this down

 

skein set forth

 

skin of the clock

just this past hour

 

of the game

of the glow

 

a spin around with

 

skin of the day is a trap

 

a home skin

top of the pail

lap that

 

the skin burst out

 

my teeth for a fictional kingdom

 

skin of this world all claw red

 

strip off

hang it alive

 

skin of a wish

where we’ve gone

 

skin of the dream is as far as we go

 

this is the skin of the way

#1814 - once more round this my star

 

1814

5.352

18.xii.24

once more round this my star

 

with care, with wit, with resignation

 

tall as all the heavens

 

dodging the debris

 

clocks, calendars and keys

 

attachment!

delete this!

 

even in the night, press on

 

moon intimate

and take my tide

 

lying down

afoot, hard slog

wrap skin to protect

from my star shines

 

tall in the tale of the telling

got on with

 

punching the air for a point

now and then

send flares

wear spots

 

adept with the pedals

along for the ride

 

labouring under most illusions

angels, unicorns, mermaids, such

and twinkle else if far

 

largely by habit

won’t say whim

 

wish on a hot rock falls

 

antimatter

crop circles

close earth encounters

you must imagine

 

inventing the script as I go

 

the evidence is there

wisdom is received

 

so ... probability is...

 

we’re still in circulation

 

the rakish tilt

with feeling!

for seasons!

 

tricks up to me

and love falls in

 

each of us is slightly singed

still spinning now and then

 

up for adventure always

 

home in time for tea

#1813 - get my kicks

 

1813

5.351

17.xii.24

get my kicks

 

having reached that shod rough

clear day

 

see forever so

 

bush hoofing

I, procession of

kept company

 

who are all these?

much thanks!

 

scratch here then

make my palette day

indent

 

I’m all over skin to touch

 

with long slow strokes

some chuckle up

and furred

to the point of trim

not yet but

 

take me for a wave

 

is chocolate it?

 

hence vain!

read back!

 

I scribe

at strings

and could be hammered

 

bust out of the book

 

it’s all as I damn well please

 

conjure unstoppered

later cram back

for the infant slaughter

and ever more

 

or tear out the heart

if you will

as one does

 

less and less of a danger

but just to myself

 

that’s how my horizon arrives

you can see where the flies have been 

#1812 - salt

 

1812

5.350

16.xii.24

salt

ephrastic for Carlene West’s ‘”Tjitjiti’

 

an otherworldly where

lower than the sea

 

still floating

spinifex

 

signs country lost

the picture kept

come back again

 

once was a fall of what

now the wind stands in

 

the quoll man comes

later yet a moon

 

each place marked by echo

 

and why are they pursued

the woman and the child?

 

a theft or the attempt

 

you can still hear the spear

like a fact of the place

 

makes sun of what will shine

 

it’s all this from forgetting

 

just have to know how to look 

#1811 - by the scruff

 

1811

5.349

15.xii.24

by the scruff

for the Gore Cove Track Series

 

it’s towards day ending

 

streets tend

we with them

struck sudden

by slant of sun

 

shade seeking yet

breeze beholden

 

far fetched

that it should be this world

we have

 

out of this house

a tree

 

so we imagine

the world returned

to former owners

how we could be gone

 

clouds of wing

less than the light

to show

 

I raise a tide

to these lips

 

#1810 - spare a thought for the cat herder

 

1810

5.348

14.xii.24

spare a thought for the cat herder

 

a few words from Mehitabel’s personal roach

 

 

spare a thought for the cat herder

whose toil is all the while to please

                 and to please them all

to gather in the many sheaves

to bring relief to kittens, tabs, toms

     Cheshires – mostly vanishing

and none of them are safe to pet

 

pity the poor herder

whose deadlines are seldom met

 

who works for no wage but difference

          a list, the mountain yet to climb

 

and has to survive their many lives

(each greater than the rest)

 

pity the one whose task is

to swing them in a narrow room

 

put up a bowl for the lapping

 

who gives the glory out

must endure disapprobation

 

mendicating for the purr, the growl

there is of course ‘the hidden paw’

and Siamese can’t help it

there’s nothing they’ll retract

 

imagine this one’s empire

hear that one’s heated song

 

with bag of tricks and up your alley

    (tin can too)

 

who round the year takes in the strays

(and generally unspayed)

 

cartoon pelt electrified

just when you plug them in

 

think Androcles

think paw

think jungle

Coliseum

 

and a whichway thumb

you tell me

 

Norwegian Forest’s cool

 

how pitiless these pussies

and some of them unparliamentary

 

there’s always some great big wuss of a puss

with drama

with a grievance

comes coughing up the fur